The Lemon Tree Café

by Cathy Bramley

  Oh God. I took a picture of a sleeping Churchill and tried not to dwell on my grandmother’s innermost thoughts.

  The door opened and in came Stanley being dragged by a small white poodle on a pink diamanté lead. Churchill, with a sudden burst of energy, leapt to his feet at the sight of this vision of canine beauty, and wagged his tail so hard that he knocked the plate off the table.

  ‘Sex slave at your service,’ muttered Juliet, elbowing me in the ribs.

  ‘Don’t,’ I murmured, feeling nauseous again. ‘Just don’t.’

  ‘Hello, everyone. Meet Crystal,’ Stanley stuttered, stumbling forward and trying to tip his hat to us without falling over.

  ‘Steady on, Churchill!’ Biddy gasped, trying to grab his thumping tail as he darted out of reach.

  Juliet snorted. ‘Men. All the bloody same.’

  The poodle dived through Biddy’s legs, causing poor Stanley to end up with his face in her poncho but still determinedly holding on to the diamanté lead.

  The two dogs both lunged for the same Bourbon biscuit and managed to get hold of one end each. I took the picture just as their doggy lips met in the middle.

  ‘That was perfect, Biddy!’ I said with a grin and great relief. ‘If this doesn’t get the café’s Twitter feed buzzing nothing will.’

  Churchill and Crystal began trotting round in circles, nose to tail, sniffing each other’s rear ends.

  ‘Ahh,’ said Juliet. ‘How romantic.’

  ‘So that’s where I’m going wrong,’ I said.

  ‘Humph,’ said Nonna with a gimlet-eyed glance at Biddy.

  ‘Heavens,’ said Stanley, looking down at something brown mushed into his hand. He gave it a tentative sniff. ‘What on earth …?’

  ‘Frankfurter,’ we all supplied.

  I handed him a napkin.

  ‘Crystal is my neighbour’s new rescue dog,’ said Stanley, attempting to detangle himself and the lead from Biddy’s legs. ‘I’m looking after her while he’s away at a conference. I hope she’s allowed in?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said, pointing to a large dog bowl filled with water. ‘And very welcome. As are you.’

  Nonna flounced away to the store cupboard to fetch a broom, muttering under her breath in Italian. Biddy clipped a lead to Churchill and headed to a quiet table in the conservatory to tackle a raspberry muffin I’d given her as a thank you. Stanley tucked Crystal under his arm and looked nervously in Nonna’s direction.

  ‘I’m glad we are a dog-friendly café,’ said Juliet. ‘Dean says more places should allow animals in.’

  ‘Dicky head. He don’t have to clean up,’ Nonna grumbled, wielding her broom menacingly at the crumbs.

  ‘Maria,’ said Stanley, clearing his throat, ‘I’ve taken the liberty … I do hope this wasn’t too forward of me … and of course if it’s not convenient—’

  ‘Grazie a Dio,’ Nonna muttered. ‘Hurry up or I be dead before you spit it out.’

  Stanley’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. ‘The cinema, this afternoon. There’s a special screening of an old Doris Day film. Would you like to come with me?’

  ‘I just check my diary,’ said Nonna, charging off to put the broom away with a suspiciously pink face. ‘Yes, I’m free.’

  ‘Really?’ Stanley’s eyes lit up. ‘Marvellous. There’s a bus from the green in fifteen minutes, I’ll just have to pop home to take Crystal back first.’

  Nonna patted her hair. ‘Wait, I get my coat, I come with you.’

  This was it, this was my chance to take a look in that filing cabinet.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be gone for hours, won’t you, Stanley?’ I shot a sideways look at Juliet.

  ‘All afternoon. And afterwards, I’m going to suggest a fish and chip supper on the way home.’ He frowned. ‘Unless you think that’s too much. I’m out of practice; I haven’t dated for fifty years.’

  Nonna appeared in her coat, handbag and bright coral lipstick. ‘Okey cokey, we go. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘Have a lovely time,’ I said, ushering them out.

  Ten minutes later, Juliet and I stood at the window, watching the pair of them reappear without Crystal, cross the village green and sit at the bench at the bus stop.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ I murmured.

  ‘Operation Paperwork?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  We looked at each other nervously.

  ‘Maria would kill us,’ Juliet breathed, wide-eyed.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I said, full of resolve. ‘She can’t kill me; I’m family.’

  A single-decker bus rumbled around the corner. As soon as I saw Stanley and Nonna get to their feet I stealthily made my way to the store room. Juliet followed closely behind, muttering something about the Mafia and concrete overcoats.

  I opened the door to the store room and snapped on the light. My route to the filing cabinet was blocked by several bulky objects. With Juliet’s help, I shifted the broom, a vacuum cleaner, three buckets, five mops, a set of stepladders and two big food processors with bits missing. Finally, we had a clear path to the old metal cabinet.

  ‘Pull the door to,’ I whispered and crept forward.

  There were three drawers in the cabinet. Only the top one was labelled ‘private’, the other two weren’t labelled at all. I tried them all. The bottom two were unlocked and didn’t contain anything exciting: old food catalogues, some recipe books and manuals for the electrical appliances. The top drawer marked private was locked.

  Above the cabinet was a shelf stacked with dusty jars of Nonna’s homemade preserves: lemons, jam, chutney and something dark and plum-like. There was a nail protruding from the edge of the shelf and from it hung a key.

  Holding my breath, I unhooked the key and slid it into the keyhole. The key turned.

  I looked over my shoulder at Juliet who was right behind me, biting her nails.

  ‘I’m in,’ I whispered.

  ‘Hardly Fort Knox, is it, hen?’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s because she trusts us,’ I hissed back.

  We looked at each other guiltily.

  ‘You should probably leave me to it,’ I said. ‘So you’re not implicated in my crime.’

  Juliet shook her head. ‘Maria will be halfway to the cinema by now, don’t worry about it. Besides, we’re a team, aren’t we?’

  She patted my shoulder awkwardly, which was the equivalent of a declaration of love coming from her.

  ‘I appreciate that,’ I said truthfully.

  I tugged open the drawer and stared inside. It was absolutely stuffed with receipts, invoices, scraps of paper, bank statements … It was the end of March now, there must have been at least a year’s worth of paperwork in here. And all this was going to have to be sorted out for the tax office.

  ‘Jesus.’ I whistled through my teeth. ‘I can’t believe she’s kept all this hidden away.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Juliet hissed, ‘what are we going to do about it?’

  I shook my head, distracted by a thick Manila envelope sitting on top of the other papers. It was marked with a scrawled privato in faded blue ink. There was a word below it which started with ‘Ben’ but I couldn’t make out the rest. I turned the envelope over and found that the flap was loose. I peered inside, feeling my stomach tremble as I did so. Nonna was a private person; I knew what I was doing was bad, but I couldn’t resist. Just a tiny peep, I told myself. I put my hand in and drew out a few black-and-white photos and some sort of official document.

  Suddenly the door flew back on its hinges and crashed against the wall. I dropped the pictures back into the envelope.

  ‘Eh, what you doing?’

  Nonna’s angry face glowered at us from the doorway. Juliet swore. My mouth went dry. She’s your grandmother, I reminded myself reasonably, she loves you.

  Nonna spotted the envelope in my hands and seemed to swell in size. ‘Put that down,’ she bellowed. ‘You look at my private things? Get out, get out now!’

  OK, m
aybe I overestimated that.

  I quickly shoved the envelope back in the cabinet and slammed it shut.

  ‘We thought you’d gone,’ said Juliet, creeping closer to me.

  ‘I see,’ Nonna spat. ‘You, you snake in the garden, Rosanna.’

  Stanley appeared at Nonna’s side. ‘Hello, ladies. The bus didn’t stop,’ he explained cheerfully, not picking up on either the terror on our faces or the fury on his date’s. ‘We’re going to phone for a taxi.’

  ‘Let me do that,’ said Juliet, stumbling past me, sidling past Nonna. She bore Stanley away, leaving me to face the music.

  I held my hands up. ‘I didn’t see anything. Just a lot of paperwork that needs sorting.’

  ‘You know what private mean, eh?’ Nonna narrowed her eyes as I shuffled towards her, past all the clutter still in the cupboard. ‘Private things are private for a reason. Now I don’t trust you.’

  ‘I’m sorry for prying,’ I said meekly. ‘But you can’t just close your eyes to this. It’s got to change. You need help—’

  ‘You just the same as your mamma ten years ago.’ Nonna prodded my shoulder with her fingertip. Close up, I could see her hands were trembling. Despite her obvious anger I felt a surge of love for my prickly grandmother and tried to take hold of her hands but she shrugged me off.

  ‘You think you know everything. I don’t want your help,’ she said stiffly. ‘The Lemon Tree Café is mine; I don’t want anyone interfering. Not your mamma and not you.’

  She stood back to allow me out of the cupboard. I felt totally wretched but frustrated too.

  ‘If caring for you is interfering, then I’m sorry,’ I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  ‘If you care for me, then you don’t go behind my back.’

  A look of pain crossed her face then, but she pulled herself together and walked away.

  ‘You finished here,’ she muttered over her shoulder.

  Everyone in the café was staring at us. Including, I noticed with a sinking heart, Stella Derry, who was already reaching for her mobile phone. The news would be all round the village before I even made it home.

  ‘My month is up anyway,’ I said loudly, holding on to my last vestige of pride. ‘And I’ll probably have a new job this time tomorrow.’

  ‘She’ll come round, hen,’ Juliet said gruffly as I snatched up my bag and jacket.

  I glanced over at Nonna who was snapping at Stanley that their date was off as the café was unexpectedly short-staffed.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, giving her a very quick hug. ‘And maybe piggies might fly.’

  Chapter 8

  The following day, I went to Manchester for my appointment with HitSquad. Compared to my dressing-down from Nonna, the interview itself was a cinch. I’d secretly hoped to be offered the job on the spot so that I could arrive back in Barnaby triumphant but that wasn’t to be. However, as I stepped off the Manchester train at Chesterfield and hopped on a bus back to the village, I thought I’d acquitted myself reasonably well considering I’d barely slept a wink all night.

  The look on Nonna’s face still haunted me; I’d never seen her so angry. She must be aware that the accounts were in a terrible state? Perhaps her behaviour was simply defensive, fuelled by fear? But it was the envelope marked privato with the photographs and document in it that had seemed to really fire her up and I couldn’t help wondering who was in the pictures. I would love to see pictures of my Italian family and I know Mum would too. But if they were simply family snaps why be so prickly about them? Why the big secret?

  Whatever it was, I thought with a sigh, gazing out of the bus window, she’d made it very clear it was none of my business, so the sooner I could move on with my life and get a new job sorted out the better.

  My interview at HitSquad had been quite a shock after spending a month in sleepy Barnaby. It was one of the trendiest buildings I’d ever been in: an open-plan glass box with squishy sofas, loud music at one end and a chill-out zone at the other. The whole thing was a world away from the saggy armchairs and tinkle of teaspoons at the Lemon Tree Café.

  The weather in Manchester had been relentlessly wet, making the pavements slippery and turning the concrete charcoal grey but as the bus trundled over the hills towards Barnaby, the clouds parted and huge beams of sunlight skimmed the tops of the Peak District, painting them gold.

  I’ll miss all this, I thought with a pang. I’d miss the bright yellow fields and the acres of green trees, the glint of the river running through the valley, the blossom in the hedgerows and the fat lambs headbutting each other playfully. But there’d be people in Manchester, I consoled myself; lots of people and shops and no grumpy old women.

  I stepped off the bus at the village green, steadfastly not looking in the direction of the café. I’d go home and email Michael and tell him how much I wanted the job and then perhaps head off towards the river for a run. I stepped off the pavement and immediately leapt back as Lia’s car screeched to a halt in front of me.

  I waved to her.

  ‘Fancy coming back to mine for a coffee?’ I yelled through the window, before spotting that her face was red and her eyes were like saucers. ‘I can tell you all about my interview!’

  She wound down the window and shook her head.

  ‘Oh, Rosie, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she panted. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Get in!’

  She looked so panic-stricken that I didn’t argue.

  ‘What is it?’ I said, diving in through the passenger door.

  She bit her lip. ‘I’m not entirely sure.’

  My heart missed a beat as I glanced at Arlo asleep in his car seat. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’

  ‘No. It’s Dad,’ she said grimly. ‘I think he’s up to something.’

  ‘Such as?’ I blinked at her.

  ‘From where I was standing, it looked distinctly like he was meeting another woman.’

  ‘Dad?’ I gasped. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. Belt up. This could be a bumpy ride.’

  Good God, I thought, as Lia crunched through the gears, there was certainly never a dull moment in our family …

  We sped off out of the village while she filled me in on the details.

  ‘We were having a walk along the tow path just past the little marina and I saw him. He turned into the car park of the Riverside Hotel. I waved but he didn’t spot me so I crossed the path towards the hotel thinking we could see if he had time for a drink.

  ‘I got to the entrance of the car park just as another car turned in. And this is where things turn nasty. This second car parked in the space next to Dad’s and a woman got out. So I hid myself and the pushchair round the corner of the hotel where I could spy on them. She was much younger than him: very thin and wearing a dress and boots and her hair was tied in a ponytail. Then Dad got out and they laughed and joked and he reached into the car and pulled out a denim jacket. A denim jacket, Rosie!’

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and I shivered.

  Last night I’d been round to Mum and Dad’s to tell them that I’d been sacked from the café; they’d known already, of course. Ken from the Mini Mart had told Dad when he called in for a Scotch egg on his way home. Ken’s wife had told him, who in turn had had a visit from Stella Derry. I shouldn’t imagine there was anyone left in Barnaby who didn’t know. Anyway, while I was there, Mum asked Dad if he’d like to take her for that lunch he’d been talking about for ages. Dad went bright red and said he couldn’t because he had a meeting that he couldn’t get out of. The question was: what sort of meeting was it?

  ‘Did you see them – you know – do anything?’ I swallowed, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

  Lia shook her head. ‘They walked into the hotel together and when they reached the door, Dad held it open for her and put his hand on the small of her back.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘About half an hour ago. I’ve had to run back with the pushchair, fetch the car and transf
er Arlo to his car seat. I haven’t moved so fast in years.’

  Dad had a wardrobe full of tweed and wool. He was not a denim man. Or maybe he was. What did I know? Last week Mum had caught him eyeing up frilly underwear and then there was the unexplained red lipstick. I was beginning to think I didn’t know my father at all.

  ‘Oh hell,’ I muttered. ‘Mum said he was behaving oddly.’

  I filled her in on the online lingerie ogling and the lipstick mark on his shirt and his claims of being busy today. There was also that other comment he made ages ago about fanning the flames of his smouldering passion. It was all making sense now, but oh, please let it not be true …

  ‘Oh God, that’s it, then; he’s definitely being unfaithful.’ Lia blinked away tears and the car tugged to one side as she rubbed her arm over her cheeks. ‘And why did Mum confide in you and not me? I’m only two years younger than you, not twenty.’

  I gaped at her. ‘I was just there; it was circumstance, that’s all.’

  Lia harrumphed as she turned into the car park of the Riverside Hotel.

  There weren’t many cars here at this time in the afternoon, half a dozen maybe plus Dad’s and the mystery woman’s, which was a small blue Nissan. Lia slowed the car right down and we drove past Dad’s Volvo and into the far corner between a battered white van advertising French polishing and the hotel’s big green recycling bins where we were less conspicuous.

  I turned to face her. ‘Whatever we find out could change the family for ever … Let’s face it together, put on a united front?’

  Lia let out a long breath and turned off the engine. ‘You’re right. So. What are we going to do?’

  ‘Let’s go into reception, see if we can spot him and take it from there.’ I looked at her, trying to smile bravely. ‘There’s probably some perfectly innocent explanation and we’ll all end up laughing about this in years to come.’

  Lia slid her eyes to me doubtfully. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Me too.’

  I got out of the car and Lia reached into the back to lift out Arlo.

  He opened his eyes, blinked at his mum, then rubbed his face on her shoulder and went back to sleep.